“Putting funds in trust for Mama and Lydia and making myself and Sir Dylan the trustees. Mama and Lydia have been informed by letter, and they will understand. Sir Dylan will as well. My family did want me to marry, after all.”

“Causing a scandal to rock the realm wasn’t in their plans for you.”

“Nor mine for you, but once the press has had its frolic, we will have what we wish, won’t we?”

“If I have you and Tommie, I will be content.”

She would say that, and she hadn’t answered his earlier question. “And if I must choose between you and Tommie, Matilda?”

Tremont hated that the question had to be asked, but it was Matilda’s choice to make. She linked arms with him and hauled him toward the steps leading to the solicitors’ office.

“Save Tommie. Break whatever rules you must, thwart the law, exert your privileges, but save my son. I was afraid the sweeps would get him, or the abbesses, but the real threat turns out to be his legal father. The sweeps haven’t snatched him away, but if Harry tries to take him from me, save my son, Marcus.”

“So be it.” That Matilda would face the question rather than offer another it-won’t-come-to-that declaration was more proof that she expected to lose the battle with Merridew.

The successful confidence trickster realized coin from his schemes, but he also earned proof that he was more clever, wise, and skilled than the average person. He was rewarded rather than punished for abandoning the principles of decency, and for Harry Merridew, that sense of superiority might be the greater motivation.

A divorce would leave Harry rich, but refusing to cooperate might make him happy.

And Matilda apparently shared Tremont’s fear that now, when it mattered most, Harry would decide that he was entitled to more than his share of happiness.

That Tommie would be safe gave Matilda a measure of courage. Harry could be peevish and threatening, but the whole time Matilda had dwelled with him, he’d never raised a hand to her, and she’d never gone hungry for long. Marriage to him had been purgatory, but not quite hell.

God have mercy, she was still married to him.

Shock warred with anger over that state of affairs as she and Tremont were greeted by a jovial, mutton-chopped old fellow whose offices were spotless, though sparsely furnished.

“Hubert Drees, at your service, Mrs. Merridew. And who is this good chap?” He turned a friendly smile on Tremont, though his gaze held speculation.

Tremont had dressed soberly and carried a leather satchel. He exuded propriety along with the same banked inquisitiveness Drees brought to the occasion. But then, Marcus communed with his lawyers frequently. He would well know how to impersonate one.